


The Fundamental Things Apply

by karadin



Category: Sherlock TV
Genre: Fan Art, Humour, M/M, Mystery Stories, Romance
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2011-02-14
Updated: 2011-02-14
Packaged: 2017-10-15 15:52:44
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,994
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/162436
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/karadin/pseuds/karadin
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>On Valentines Day John leaves a clue, because Sherlock needs one.</p><p>*Artwork Included*</p>
            </blockquote>





	The Fundamental Things Apply

**The Fundamental Things Apply**  
Pairing: Sherlock/John  
Characters: Sherlock Holmes, John Watson, Sarah Sawyer, Mike Stamford, Anthea, Mycroft Holmes  
Rating PG  
Genre: Mystery Humour Romance  
Warnings: none  
_Sherlock Holmes created by Arthur Conan Doyle_  
Sherlock (BBC 2010) created by Steven Moffat and Mark Gatiss  
This is a work of fiction, a parody; no remuneration is taken by the author.  
Illustrations copyright Karadin 2011 all rights reserved.  
Lyrics My Funny Valentine by Rogers and Hart  
Lyrics As Time Goes By by Herman Hupfeld

**Synopsis: John leaves a clue on Valentines Day, because Sherlock needs one.**

Author’s note: If you are reading this story and you did not access it through Archive of Our Own, this is a stolen work, posted without the author’s consent. Please go directly to Archive of Our Own and access the author’s page under the author’s name Karadin. Thank you.

John Watson arrived in 221B Baker Street with one of the largest bouquets of roses Sherlock Holmes had ever seen.

The uniqueness of this incident was enough to drag the World's Only Consulting Detective from John's laptop, where Sherlock had been adding details of his brilliant deductive reasoning to his flatmate's report of their most recent case.

"Today is February fourteenth and you are going out on a date," Sherlock said, his gaze fixed to the roses as he stalked into the kitchen, where John was searching for an uncontaminated vessel to hold water for the flowers.

"Excellent deduction," John replied with a smile, pursing his lips as he studied a large beaker, sniffing it cautiously before setting it under the tap to fill up.

Sherlock pulled aside the cloth-textured wrap around the flowers to search for the packet of preservative attached to back of a note card and handed this to John.

The doctor took this from Sherlock's long fingers, his right eyebrow raised in a curious expression. "Thanks, how did you know...?"

"I worked for a brief time at a floral shop - research for a case where the murderer left 'Tussie-Mussies' - small bouquets on the corpse of each victim, each flower in the arrangement having a distinct meaning. In the Victorian 'language of flowers' red roses are for true love, but there is a single mauve-colored rose here in the center. I suppose this is intended to be blue?"

John sighed, his cheeks blushing slightly pink and his hand rose to the collar of his button-down shirt to scratch his neck in a nervous habit.

"Yes, I had heard that a blue rose was supposed to mean, _love at first sight_ , but frankly, those weren't as nice as the red ones. You might be interested to know that those are named after the actress Ingrid Bergman."

Sherlock cupped one of the large heavy roses in one hand, the flowers had unfurled half-way, just enough to begin to release their scent. The detective closed his eyes as he inhaled, finding the perfume not cloying or too heady, exactly to his preferences.

"Well-named, I'd say. I am glad the film left an impression with you."

John grinned. "You're never interested in selecting anything for our Weekly Movie Night, so of course I'd remember. It was really good."

Sherlock let go of the rose to lift his head with a scoff.

 _Casablanca_ just _good?_ It's _immaculate,_ as far as the cinematic arts go."

The doctor giggled, "Pretentious git," but his tone was affectionate and he removed his jacket to hang it on the back of a chair.

"These cost you a pretty penny," Sherlock said, "the insignia on the wrap is from Woodhams, the length of your two dozen stem roses, the fact they are thorn less, red combined with a rare blue, indicates at least a hundred pounds; this extravagance is somewhat out of character for you, John."

The doctor's brow furrowed. "How do you figure? You don't think I'd try to make my best impression for ... someone I've come to care about?"

" _Mandy_ dropped you after I collected you from the disco in pursuit of the Mikimoto Tiara," Sherlock's voice dripped disdain when speaking of his flatmate's chosen paramours. "If you had reconciled I would have noted the swelling and redness of your lobulae, as she had a habit of ear-biting - but after a long pause in your romantic career, you've taken up with someone new - I don't doubt this woman has come to mean more to you than a passing fancy, because a market-stall bouquet would not suffice. That is why you haven't informed me as to her existence or her particulars, because you don't want to 'mess this one up'."

John gaped, but was prevented from speaking when Sherlock made a dismissive gesture with his hand and carefully un-wrapped the roses, finding to his satisfaction that the ends of the stems had been embedded in wet florist's foam.

He motioned impatiently for John to bring him the beaker full of water, stirring it to dissolve the preservative, then quickly grasped the base of all the stems to pull them from the foam and place them in the water.

"Usually you'd want to re-cut the stems at an angle under water to make certain that they continue to draw, but you've been to a good florist who prepared the bouquet for carrying. If we set the roses here, where it is warm they will open up properly, in time for dinner. I assume you are presenting them to your newest sweetheart at that time?"

John nodded; his expression awed as Sherlock carefully teased the tangled leaves of the stems apart and arranged the flowers so that the blue was slightly off center.

"Is there anything you can't do?"

The detective was pleased, giving his flatmate a toothless smile as he turned his back on the roses to sit in his favorite chair, with his legs stretched out, crossed at the ankles, with his fingers steepled at his chin; what John thought of as his brilliant partner's 'reasoning pose.'

The doctor licked his lips.

"Going anywhere tonight?"

Sherlock titled his head to one side, forgoing a shrug. "I have a few experiments I could run or I could watch _Casablanca_ again, in the spirit of the holiday."

As the detective scowled, John ventured, "I take it you don't care much for Valentines Day?"

"Don't think about it one way or the other, with the exception of a small spike in crime, though it tends to be boringly domestic and un-inventive. It's patently absurd to spend time and energy on a single day of the year to incline oneself to romance, when the point is spontaneity and surprise."

John was taken aback. "Do you mean something along the lines of _"each day is Valentines Day?_ "

"Is that one of those pop culture references you think I should know?"

"It's an old song, it goes ... _My funny Valentine, sweet comic Valentine_ ... stop laughing."

"Are you practicing your wiles on me, Dr. Watson? You'll have to do better."

 _You make me smile with my heart_  
Your looks are laughable, un-photographable  
Yet, you're my favorite work of art

"You saved that with the last line," Sherlock said.

 _Is your figure less than Greek?_  
Is your mouth a little weak?  
When you open it to speak  
Are you smart? 

"John," Sherlock was beginning to shudder with suppressed laughter, "even someone as socially inept as me knows that's not very complimentary."

John sat on the back of the chair across from his friend, leaning forward, his expression open and warm, and Sherlock thought, his blue eyes did that sparkling thing as when they chased murderous cabbies across London.

 _But don't change a hair for me_  
Not if you care for me  
Stay little Valentine, stay  
Each day is Valentines day. 

John took a bow as Sherlock applauded. "That might romance someone of lesser intellect; at least you have a charming voice."

"Thank you, Mr. Holmes, I'm off to shower."

"Ah," the detective replied, "you'll have to remove the pig bladders first."

 

***

The offal having been duly removed from the bathtub, John showered and shaved, dressed in a charcoal suit he had purchased for the evening from Harvey Nichols and presented himself in the sitting room for Sherlock's inspection.

The detective noted John's Regimental tie with approval, supposing that he might even have John shine his shoes, admiring the high gloss his friend had achieved - having gotten the knack from his stint in the Army - but when he stood close enough to his flatmate he could detect a familiar scent.

John stiffened his spine as Sherlock dove in close enough to press his nose to his throat.

" _Bleu De Chanel,_ that's _my_ cologne!"

"Sorry," John said, "I was out. You - you borrow my things all the time, so ..." he swallowed and rocked back on the heels of his dress Oxfords when Sherlock only pressed closer.

"Smells different on you. I suppose it would." The detective returned to his chair in a swirl of blue fabric, having changed out of his black suit into drawstring trousers, a soft tee shirt and his favorite dressing gown. Curling his legs beneath him, he pulled a battered biscuit tin into his lap and used the remote to turn on the DVD player.

"All set then?" John said, pulling his tie out of true. "Do you really like the roses?"

"Don't fidget, they are magnificent," Sherlock replied. "Why don't you take the night off, in the event something comes up I'll call on Lestrade."

"You wouldn't!" John's expression became mulish and he curled his hands into fists.

"You've spent money I know you can't afford on flowers, a new suit and doubtless dinner at an expensive restaurant, it would be a shame for all that to go to waste. I can afford to be without My Blogger two days of the year."

"What's the other day, then?"

"July the Fourth."

John opened his mouth and then closed it, finishing off with a little grateful smile.

"Thanks, Sherlock, I'll see you later."

Sherlock turned toward the telly, but astonished his flatmate by saying "Good luck." softly.

Once he heard the sound of the door to the flat click shut, counted down seventeen steps and heard the front door open and close, Sherlock pulled the lid from the tin in his lap off with unnecessary force so it spun across the sitting room to hit the wall - leaving a divot in the wallpaper - under the smiling face in yellow spray paint.

Inside the tin was a concoction Sherlock had made in their kitchen-laboratory, bittersweet chocolate-covered bacon. It seemed efficient to combine his two favorite foods - when he bothered to consider fueling the body that transported his brain around - the combination provided necessary sugars, antioxidants and protein.

John was adamant the stuff would be nothing short of awful and refused to try it, but the concoction was surprisingly sweet and had become Sherlock's comfort food, served with a nicotine-patch chaser when he was between cases.

He felt a bit better as his tongue and teeth masticated the chocolate, unable to keep back a small happy sigh, the movie began and there was Ingrid - who reminded him of Mummy - glowing softly on the screen.

Of course John had liked Humphrey Bogart and Sherlock had expressed his opinion that this was because John aspired to be the strong and selfless hero, a bit too romantic for his own good. John had blushed furiously and hit Sherlock in the face with the pillow emblazoned with the Union Jack.

Sherlock preferred Capt. Renault, portrayed by the fox-faced Claude Rains, remarking on the character's ability of knowing everything going on in Casablanca and being able to turn any situation to his advantage, and NO, _Louis was nothing like Mycroft_ , as John suggested with a smirk.

The conclusion of the film had brought on a discussion of true love and sacrifice, at which both friends had been at odds; John thinking that Rick had done the right thing in the end and Sherlock thinking Rick a fool to be become involved again with Ilsa.

"But look at _her_ Sherlock," John had gestured to the screen and Ingrid Bergman. "Wouldn't that be a woman worth falling in love with, even if you might suffer for it later?"

"You'd always have Paris?" Sherlock's eyebrows lifted.

He realized then he'd never break John of his stubborn dedication to applying picture-perfect storylines to real life, no matter how many crime scenes or bodies in morgues they surveyed. Where Sherlock saw the dark petty waste of it all, John was determined to see the good in people. This, among his traits of loyalty and courage, made the seemingly ordinary John Watson remarkable.

Sherlock considered himself - had he to give a name to it - blessed to have John as a colleague and a friend, yet despite this, he treated John Watson rather shabbily at times.

In a flash of sudden self-realization Sherlock knew this was because he feared one day John would find someone to fall utterly in love with and he sought to soften the blow John's departure from his life would bring.

Sherlock wondered if this mystery woman John was dating would be the one to prove worthier than the Jane's, Chloe's and Mandy's of the last year, and happened to look across to the kitchen where the rose bouquet had unfurled in all its glory.

The chocolate-covered piece of bacon Sherlock was chewing dropped from his lips, to be caught in his right hand.

**John had forgotten his flowers.**

Shoving the sweet back into his mouth the detective launched himself out of his chair, reaching out a hand to cup the nearest velvet-textured rose as the other fished for the mobile in the pocket of his dressing gown.

John's phone went directly to voicemail. Sherlock sent a text.

LEFT ROSES AT 221B. SH

There was no reply.

Well, of course John would have shut off his mobile as he had been given the night off.

Sherlock tapped his mouth with the edge of his Blackberry, he didn't know where John was going, but he _was_ the World's Only Consulting Detective.

His eyes alight, Sherlock ran into his bedroom to strip off his clothes and put on one of his bespoke black suits, only stopping at the kitchen table to carefully re-wrap the roses, giving an extra puff to the ribbon before donning his greatcoat and scarf.

 

****

 

The investigation began with Mike Stamford, who took coffees with John on a regular basis. The effusive lecturer was at first reluctant to discuss anything he might consider confidential until Sherlock explained the urgency of the situation, sitting in a black cab with the bouquet on his lap.

"Well, I didn't know John was dating again, but I'm not surprised, you know when we were at Barts he often had two or three girls on a string!" Mike chuckled.

"Yes, _fine_ ," Sherlock snapped, "fond reminiscence of your days at Uni does not help me _now._ Can you think of anyone John would confide in?"

Mike paused to ponder this for a moment. "Maybe that chap, Murray that saved his hide in Afghanistan, you could give him a ring?"

"I believe John would wish for a female confidant on the question of romance."

Mike laughed. "That leaves Harry out, she won't stop making innuendo's about you and er ... what about Sarah? From the surgery?"

"She and John broke off their relationship after the pool blew up."

"They're still good mates, John has that ability," Mike sighed, "I could never stay friends with people I'd broken up with, wouldn't hurt to ask."

In his own mind, Sherlock could agree with that statement. As the cab was near the surgery, Sherlock directed the driver there, he had the schedule of the staff committed to memory and Sarah would be in her office.

 

****

To say that Ms. Sawyer was surprised at the appearance of Sherlock Holmes bearing a large floral bouquet was an understatement.

The first words out of her mouth were, "John isn't here!"

"I know that. I am trying to find out where he is. He's gone off to meet some woman for dinner and left these at the flat."

Sarah walked around her desk, and reached out a hand to the bouquet, Sherlock allowed her to touch and smell the roses, grudgingly.

"These are beautiful!" her lips curled in a small, fond smile. "John can be very romantic, though our dates tended to involve kidnappings, firearms and crossbows."

"I can see where that might be a deal breaker," Sherlock replied.

Sarah laughed once at that. "Not for you, you thrive on danger, it doesn't matter to you if John is in harm's way."

Sherlock did not care to have this conversation and let it be known in the expression of annoyance that crossed his features. "John is not one to be coddled, he takes cases with me because he _wants_ to, it's not as if I ask him to undertake anything that I would not do myself ... with the exception of taking on investigations for my brother."

Sarah's brow furrowed a little with incomprehension and Sherlock held up the bouquet. "Time is of the essence, has John confided in you about the new woman in his life?"

"He didn't say anything about a new girlfriend to me," Sarah replied, "why would he?"

Sherlock replied, "He continues to respect you as a colleague, you have a modicum of intelligence and he values your opinions."

Sarah crossed her arms in front of her. "That's nice, I'd like to hear it from _him_ , but, what do you think?"

"About?"

"About me and John's girlfriends in general."

"You are the least annoying of the lot, you didn't hesitate when it came to beating someone with a stick in his defense, you had some interest in our cases and you covered for him at the surgery. It did come as a surprise that you could so easily give up a relationship with him."

"It wasn't easy, at all," Sarah replied. "I don't meet many John Watsons, it was hard to see him at the hospital - being a patient instead of doctoring them - but I would have supported him, if he was going to give me more than just a slice of his time and attention, but he wasn't. I think I deserve more."

Sherlock did not have a reply to that.

"So, he's off on a date for Valentines Day and you're bringing him his flowers, _why_?"

"He will be grateful and I'll discover who the mystery woman is."

"Oh, right." Sarah's mouth widened in a smirk and Sherlock's estimation of her as the best of a bad lot was reinforced. "What are you going to do?"

"There are approximately 12,000 restaurants in London, if you leave out cafes and pubs, the number narrows to about 5,000. John prefers Italian, Chinese and Indian cuisine in that order, but he may have chosen a venue according to the tastes of his date. John would not choose a restaurant according to a guide, knowing how unreliable they can be, but would seek the opinions of friends and co-workers."

Sarah shook her head. "If you like, I'll ask the rest of the staff."

Sherlock was slightly surprised that Sarah would offer any assistance, fearing that he might say something to dissuade her, he only nodded. While she was gone, Sherlock checked his mobile on the off chance John had responded to his text and he had missed the ring.

Sarah returned after five very long minutes, during which Sherlock made a furrow in the middle of the carpet with his pacing.

"We are out of luck; John didn't ask anyone about restaurants or tell anyone about his plans for the evening."

Sherlock took out his mobile to start an internet search while Sarah looked at the roses, as the detective turned he noticed that she had covered her mouth with her hand.

Sarah still had feelings for John, Sherlock deduced, it was difficult for her to be confronted with the evidence he had fallen for another woman. He cleared his throat to attract her attention.

Sarah's eyes were very wide as she stared at him.

"If you would hand those back, I have a short list of possibilities. If I don't find him soon I might as well return to Baker Street."

"Sorry," she said, "it's too bad you don't have a GPS implanted in him."

Sherlock paused on the threshold before striding out the door.

 

****

 

It took a long few moments of soul searching before Sherlock texted Mycroft.

WHEREABOUTS JW, URGENT SH.

And five minutes later a long black Bentley pulled up at the kerb, the detective ducked in to find Anthea and her Blackberry present.

"Oh! Beautiful flowers!"

The detective was nonplussed as the woman uncharacteristically displayed an interest in something other than her smartphone.

"What does my brother want in exchange for the favor?"

"Nothing," the PA replied. "Is that a blue rose? It means _mystery_."

"We are speaking of _Mycroft Holmes_ , how can he possibly not want anything?"

"This is on behalf of Dr. Watson," Anthea replied. "Sir wants you to drop off the roses and make yourself scarce afterwards, no lurking."

"I don't _lurk._ " Sherlock complained bitterly, not pleased by how Anthea was literally cooing over the bouquet. He would make certain that John never knew of her predilection.

The streets they traveled were familiar, to the degree that Sherlock realized where they were headed before they arrived at _Angelo's_.

"Of course!" Sherlock said, startling Anthea. "He spent so much at the florist and at Harvey Nicks; he can't have much left in his account, because of my relationship with Angelo, he can get a good inexpensive meal here."

Anthea had to nudge Sherlock out the door. "Remember, just drop off the flowers!" Yet as soon as the detective was decanted onto the pavement, the Bentley pulled away.

It took a moment for the detective's eyes to adjust to the lighting inside the restaurant, that pause was long enough for Angelo to spot Sherlock blinking and rush up to slap his shoulders with both of his meaty hands.

"Beginning to think you wouldn't show! Today of all days! Come on, John's waiting!"

Sherlock opened his mouth to respond, but he was being shoved toward the table in front of the window - which happened to be plastered with red foil hearts, the table itself lit up with enough candles to set a conflagration - but John was also there with a beaming smile.

"Sherlock! You brought the roses!"

"Yes, John," and he held the bouquet out to his flatmate, conspicuously shaking it when the doctor did not take them right away. "It's a bit late now."

John nodded as he grasped the flowers.

"Did your date text you? Let you know when she'd arrive?"

John's eyes darted right and then down to the table, a habit when Sherlock had said or done something socially unacceptable.  Sherlock's relief that John was alone warred briefly with a sensation that he should be sorry on his friend's behalf.

"Don't tell me she's not coming?"

John rubbed his face with his hand. "I guess not. Care to have a seat?"

Sherlock took his usual spot across from John, placing his greatcoat on the side of the wraparound bench before picking up a cloth napkin to drape over his lap.

"Perhaps it's for the best, not that I would know much about intrapersonal relationships, as so you often remind me, but being stood up on Valentines Day is certainly a sign of lack of dedication. Have you had any thoughts about trying again with Sarah?"

"What?" John said, appearing slightly dazed. "Why would you ask about Sarah?"

"As girlfriends go, she wasn't so bad," Sherlock mused as he looked over the menu, even though he knew it by heart. "Your selections in companionship have gone down considerably in quality since then, you should have higher standards."

John smiled. "Yes, I agree with you there."

Angelo appeared with a vase for the flowers and Sherlock again took the honour of arranging them, frowning at the single blue rose. "This looks so out of place."

"Just so we are clear," John said, "... you thought I was meeting someone else for dinner, yet you travelled across London to bring me the flowers. Sherlock, why would you go to the trouble?"

Sherlock set down his menu. "You'd gone to such efforts to impress; I thought it would be a shame if your plans were spoiled. Don't look at me like that. While I _was_ curious as to whom your date might be, your welfare was foremost in my mind."

"Thank you, I suppose it was easy to deduce where I was?"

The detective frowned. "Not at all, I admit to having to interrogate your friends and colleagues, I stopped by the surgery, then I had to ask Mycroft where you were!" His voice rose as he saw John's expression turn incredulous. "How was I supposed to know where you might take out a female friend with all of London to choose from? In fact, I was disheartened to discover you'd come here."

"Why?" John asked.

"This is where I brought you after our first crime scene; we chased our first villain from here."

"My first drugs bust," John said, gazing at Sherlock with unabashed fondness.

"Yes, and all the rest of it. I've come to think of this as _our_ place, but I understand you chose Angelo's out of necessity. It does have a romantic ambiance, but I could do without the garish foil hearts."

"Our own _Café Américain?_ "

"Without an Ilsa, it seems."

Doctor Watson surprised the detective by reaching across the table, around the vase of roses to place his hand over Sherlock's.

"Did you ever think during the course of your investigation, to _read the card_ that came with the flowers?"

Sherlock's eyes widened slightly, and there in the cellophane littered on the table, attached to the ribbon was a square envelope.

"I thought that was personal."

John burst out laughing. "Sherlock! My God, _personal_? You think nothing of barging into my bedroom - or the bath room - at all hours no matter what state I'm in! So why would you not read the card to _get a clue_?"

"I didn't want to read a love note you'd written to anyone else," Sherlock said, finding something particularly intriguing to look at through the picture window, certainly not at John Watson sitting beside him.

Sherlock was suddenly struck by the memory of the first time they'd sat at this table.

"I told you I considered myself married to my work, yet in the course of a year that's changed, you've become indispensable to me. I'm so very fond of you, John."

Sherlock ducked his head, covering it with his hands, a typical gesture of frustration when relating to certain bits of deleteable information, such as the earth revolving around the sun. He splayed out his fingers, looking up suddenly with his eyes ablaze.

"I realize this sounds completely self-absorbed ... "

He was confronted by a pasteboard square placed directly into his line of view.

And on the card were written these lines.

 _For Sherlock_  
To the Start of A Beautiful Friendship  
And More If Willing  
Discuss over Saltimbocca  
John. 

 

"I didn't think I made the mystery complicated enough," John said, his voice light, though the hand holding the card was slightly shaking. "I studied The Victorian Posey Murders, so I knew you could read the meanings, a blue rose for _love at first sight, mystery, attaining the impossible,_ red roses for _true love_ and I wore your Blue cologne."

John shook his head at the detective's dazed expression.

"When I was getting ready I was sure you'd sneak a peek at the card, then I left the bouquet thinking you would take a look when I'd gone ... but you were out looking for me, you _even went to Mycroft_ , it doesn't get better than that."

John took Sherlock's hand once again and the detective allowed it.

John inhaled deeply. "You must know by now I'm mad for you, made mad _by_ you. Could we see where things lead, Sherlock?"

Sherlock clasped John's hand.

Then he pointed to the roses. "These are mine?"

When John nodded, Sherlock reached out to take the bouquet in his arms, vase and all, and hugged it, inhaling the fragrance of the blossoms with a delighted sigh often heard at crime scenes. "No one's ever given me flowers before!"

"I'm glad you like them," John said, crossing his arms on the table and setting his head down, happily exhausted.

Sherlock pulled out the blue rose, snapped the stem short and pressed it behind John's left ear, allowing his fingertips to trail the doctor's jaw line, John's eyelids fluttered.

"You can have this."

"Thanks, so, what do you think?"

"I think we will have a long talk when we get back to Baker Street and you _will_ try chocolate-covered bacon to study its possible aphrodisiac qualities."

John nodded, agreeable to most ideas at this point, grinning as he saw Angelo wiping at his face with the corner of his apron and giving him thumbs up.

"I expect a long courtship," Sherlock continued.

"That's fine. That's good." John replied.

"We'll honeymoon in Paris _and_ Morocco!"

"Oh, not _deserts_ Sherlock!" John groaned, and waved Angelo over to bring them a bottle of red wine with dinner, possibly two.

 

 _You must remember this_  
A kiss is just a kiss, a sigh is just a sigh.  
The fundamental things apply  
As time goes by.  
And when two lovers woo  
They still say, "I love you."  
On that you can rely  
No matter what the future brings  
As time goes by.

 

THE END

 **Notes :**  
My Funny Valentine by Frank Sinatra  http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=DF7GowH3Mgw  
As Time Goes By by Billie Holiday  http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=vYoet7-qDHI &feature=related

**Author's Note:**

>  **Notes :**  
>  My Funny Valentine by Frank Sinatra http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=DF7GowH3Mgw  
> As Time Goes By by Billie Holiday http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=vYoet7-qDHI&feature=related


End file.
